


Try Now to Take the Next Step

by lifeaftermeteor



Series: Life After Meteor [10]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: BROTPs abound, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Endless Waltz, Post-Series, Preventers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftermeteor/pseuds/lifeaftermeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the closure of the L2 case, Duo departs the Preventers Corps for greener pastures; Heero and Wufei transfer out of Headquarters for a Branch Office; Mariemaia and Une catch up; and the course of Quatre and Trowa's relationship is dramatically altered following a fateful encounter in NYC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 10 of the [Life After Meteor](http://archiveofourown.org/series/391015) series, which trails the Gundam Pilots (and others) through the years post-war. Welcome comments/feedback.

**L2-V08744  
203 January 17**

The lot stood vacant, though unprotected – no fence, no chains barring is cracked, paved surface from the general populace. And yet it stood apart, conspicuously free of spray paint tags and broken bottles which could have easily found their homes there; a somber, silent, and invisible reminder of painful days gone by. 

Duo stood on the sidewalk facing the lot, his resolve faltering. Closing his eyes against the empty air, he rebuilt it. Stone by stone, it rose from the dust and ashes of memory, crowned by a stained glass rose window, its colors refracting the colony’s manufactured sunlight. St. Teresa’s – or better yet, _Maxwell’s_ – Church came alive one more time in his mind’s eye, clear as the day he’d first set eyes on her so many years ago.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and crossed the illusionary threshold, St. Agnes’ Reverend Mother following just a breath behind him, her footsteps soft but sure. “They never built over it,” Duo noted as they walked through the empty lot together.

Beside him, the woman shook her head. “A few have tried, over the years. Some got close to breaking ground, but they were met with…ah, _local_ opposition.”

Duo smirked at that, and had little doubt that the sour-faced woman had done most of the inciting. Sobering, he murmured, “After…after it happened, I ran – as far as I could – away from it all. It hurt too much. But little legs only get you so far at a stretch. It took me a few days to reach the dockyards, and then I stowed away on a freighter. Never looked back. Well,” he amended, “until now that is.”

He kicked at a stray piece of chipped concrete with his boot and watched it skitter off to the side. “Thank you for coming with me,” he told the older woman as he drove his hands into his pockets, feeling a bit sheepish. “I wanted to say goodbye, but wasn’t sure I could do it alone.”

The Abbess smiled in a pinched sort of way. “It’s the least I could do. For you, and for _them_.”

Duo smiled at this, a spark of playfulness easing into his chest. “Ya know, I used to call you Sister Lemon-Face because you always looked like you were eating something bitter. Kinda like now, actually.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her puckered smile soften. “And I never understood what Helen saw in you. The hyperactive hellion you were,” she teased back. “Now I do,” she added, serious again. “I’m only sad it took me so long.”

They reached the distant corner of the lot and turned to the right to trace the property line with measured steps. As they continued their meandering, the Abbess asked, “As you close this chapter in your life…where will you go now?”

Duo considered for a time before settling on, “I won’t be back here.” He said it with utter certainty, and little regret. “But I’m not sure where to go from here. Hard to decide when every option is ‘forward.’ I guess that means first stop is ‘home,’ and we’ll go from there.”

“I think that sounds like an excellent plan,” his companion said with an approving nod. “And I hope…even if we won’t see you…you’ll still carry us with you.”

“Always.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Unit #1312, Preventers HQ Subsidized Housing Complex  
Geneva, Switzerland  
203 March 3**

Duo had returned to Geneva with little fanfare, and Heero had once more met him at the shuttle port with coffee, as had become tradition while the other man bounced back and forth between the colonies and Earth before more permanently relocating to the L2 Cluster. Heero had taken the day off of work – by suggestion of Wufei – and was glad for the respite from the seemingly unending demand for field reports and briefings.

Duo had regaled him on his most recent stop-over to visit Hilde, and the chatter was a pleasant change from the dark, brooding Duo who Heero had grown accustomed to over the last two years. _God, two years…_ For the time being, Heero allowed himself to be comforted by the apparent return to ‘normal,’ and pushed aside the questions that nagged at the back of his mind, most of which had to do with something akin to, “What now?”

Upon arrival at the apartment, Heero offered his room in case Duo was interested in a nap, a suggestion which the other man waved off amicably enough; but when Heero mentioned food, Duo pounced. Heero therefore found himself heading into the kitchen, Duo following at his heels, and was grateful their refrigerator was thoroughly stocked thanks to his absent roommate.

While he rummaged, Duo pulled up a chair at the dining table just on the other side of the kitchen’s entryway and dropped easily into it as they talked. “Do you have your next assignment lined up?” Heero asked, his back to the other man. “You can stay here as long as you want – we can get housing sorted later…”

“I’m not staying,” Duo murmured, his voice suddenly far more somber than it had been moments before.

Heero deflated at the words. He had figured as much, but had held out hope that his assumptions were wrong. He kept his back turned and his voice even when he next spoke. “What will you do instead?”

“I don’t know,” Duo admitted. “Kinda depends on what comes in the mail, I guess.” At this, Heero did turn to look at him, puzzled. Before he could ask, Duo supplied, “While I was star-side, I…applied to some schools. Both down here and up there. Figured there wasn’t any harm in it, ya know?”

Heero’s gaze turned inward for a moment as he considered the news, but then he nodded. “That’s wise. Especially if you want out of this line of work.”

“Truth be told, I don’t really know what’s out there besides this line of work. For me at least. I don’t have the way with words that you’ve got.”

Heero snorted at this, hoping to cover for the uncomfortable flutter in his belly at the compliment. “Oh yes. Those journals are really doing a lot for my career sitting on my bookcase,” he shot back, referencing the growing pile that had been collecting his thoughts over the years.

Duo smiled at this. “They would if you sold ‘em.”

“No,” Heero said gently, but firmly. “They’re…private.” The very thought of others flipping through the contents of those leather-bound collections made him feel vaguely nauseous. 

Duo shrugged, apparently unaware of the other man’s discomfort. “Up to you,” he acknowledged. “But if you ever get tired of the whole Preventers business, you could start doing greeting cards. Between you and Wufei, I’m sure you’ve got loads of ammunition for clever quips to bank an easy fortune.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Johannesburg, South Africa  
203 April 22**

The show had gone off without a hitch and had drawn large crowds from among Johannesburg’s curious citizenry. Trowa for his part had simply been grateful to return to the aerial silks and his routine alongside Enyonyam. 

Several weeks ago, he had taken a nasty spill during practice, which had left him grounded by order of the troupe’s physician with a taped knee and ankle under his clown costume. Cathy had seen it as just yet another reason to coddle him, which nearly drove him to homicide, the only thing saving the general populace from his wrath being his overriding disinterest in serving prison time anywhere on Earth.

But since their relocation, he’d gotten the all-clear to return to the show. The adrenaline rush of being airborne once more had been enough to keep him going through the grueling rehearsal and performance schedule, leaving him almost giddy in the evenings. Cathy had taken this renewed energy and dedication as a sign that he’d come through the worst of the depression that had dogged his waking hours over the past year.

She may not have been wrong, but Trowa for his part much preferred to simply block it out with absolute certainty that the book had been closed on all of the _could-have-been_ and _if-only_ scenarios. He’d since discovered how dangerous it was to look backward.

What Cathy _didn’t_ know, however, was that all that pent up frustration and extra energy had been directed into not _entirely_ honest pursuits.

Cirque Ste-Croix had never been without the occasional dust-ups. The roustabouts were the worst of the habitual perpetrators wherever they went, but the acrobats and clowns weren’t much better when the mood struck them. The lot of them had a gentlemen’s agreement of sorts – no trouble until the show was done. It wouldn’t do any good for anyone’s bank account if they were run out of town early, after all.

Trowa proudly included himself among the lot of them, and as their run in Johannesburg cycled to a close, he could feel the restless urge for trouble-making grow almost exponentially as the clock ticked down to their departure. So when he was invited along to “some place” down some back alley where the booze was flowing and the dice were loaded, he agreed wholeheartedly.

Thus was the set up for the evening. Surrounded by mildly inebriated circus staff gunning for any excuse for a fight, he entered one of the seediest establishments he’d seen in years and was left wondering why it felt like a breath of fresh air.

The first fight of the evening started only moments after he’d ordered his second beer, and for a time, he watched the melee move across the room with disassociated fascination. Turning to the confused stranger beside him, he wagered, “Hundred Rand [1] on the guy in the cowboy boots,” betting on his circus friend currently engaged in fisticuffs.

The man beside him snorted. “No way I’ll see that bet – I saw you walk in with the guy. You clearly know something I don’t.”

Trowa swallowed down some of his beer and shook his head as the two men continued their brawl on the far side of the bar, knocking over yet another table. “The man’s an acrobat, not a boxer,” he said. “Doesn’t have the same kind of endurance. But I’ve got loyalties, so can’t actually bet against the family. I just hope one of these days I’ll get lucky and his sorry ass will actually win a fight he starts.” 

His conversation partner seemed to consider this additional information and then finally answered, “Alright. Hundred it is.”

The two of them watched from the bar, making short work of their drinks as the fight continued, each of the combatants goaded by other on-lookers. Before too long, however, Trowa’s compatriot gained the upper hand, landing two solid uppercuts before catching his opponent’s jaw with a right cross. The local man collapsed boneless on the floor to the hollering of the gathered crowd.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Trowa mused, feigning surprise. “Guess today’s my lucky day.”

The man beside him groaned in frustration and hissed, “Con artist motherfucker,” but dug through his wallet for the Rand note nonetheless, sliding the crumbled bill over to Trowa along the bar top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] 100 South African Rand (in 2016) is about US$5-6. It can buy roughly eight bottles of domestic beer [according to this source](https://www.justlanded.com/english/South-Africa/South-Africa-Guide/Money/Cost-of-living).


	4. Chapter 4

**Large LM Conference Room, Preventers Headquarters  
Geneva, Switzerland  
203 May 13**

Wufei supposed he should not have been surprised that Duo’s farewell was so well-attended. It was Duo after all – the man had the uncanny ability to make friends even among the most reluctant candidates. At least a hundred people had crammed themselves into the conference room, breaking fire code without a second thought, to say their goodbyes. 

About twenty minutes after the designated start time, he watched a blond woman take a position at the head of the room where she towered over those nearest her, including Duo who hovered off to the side. _Gwen, her name’s Gwen. The co-pilot,_ Wufei reminded himself.

“If I can have everyone’s attention,” she began, the oppressive din of the crowd simmering down to a murmur. “Hey! Pipe down in the back!” she called out over the heads of the assembled, and this time, everyone listened. Regaining her composure, she smiled out at the lot of them. “Thank you all for coming to this little afternoon soiree to help us celebrate the phenomenon that is Duo Maxwell. If you don’t know who Duo Maxwell is, you are at the _wrong party_. Kindly leave and stop drinking our booze.

“As a quick recap for those of you who’ve only known Duo for a short period of time, he joined the organization a year after I did, in AC 197. He did his time at boot camp before joining the Counter Threat division working Eurasia, then hopped over to the EXFIL program – where we all know the action _really_ happens. He blew through the training program with flying colors – a story which Marcus will regale us all with later for the benefit of those who haven’t heard it already. For now, we’ll leave it with our team’s reputation being directly tied to our nutcase of a pilot.

“We only had Duo in the pilot seat for about eleven months before we took a nasty tumble into a field—”

“Everyone always says that,” Duo whined from where he stood off to the side, sounding every bit as frustrated as he looked. “ _Everyone._ No one will say I _crashed_ the helo—”

“—which kept us all grounded for a couple months recovering,” Gwen continued, ignoring Duo’s complaint. “In the eleven months we were flying, we conducted 147 extractions. Now, if you’re good at maths, you’ll know that that means we were averaging a new mission every 2-3 days, during which time we retrieved 404 agents from the field…”

Wufei glanced at Heero and found him confused. Leaning in close, he whispered, “That’s more than you were aware of, isn’t it?” 

The question was rhetorical – the fact of the matter was clear on Heero’s face – but the man confirmed his assessment nevertheless. “Quite a bit more,” Heero murmured back, but did not elaborate. 

They turned their attention back to Gwen, who was still speaking. “After our foray into the outdoors, Duo got called up to his home cluster to show the branch team how to get shit done. And shit got done. What started as a…30-day?” she asked, looking to Duo for confirmation. With a nod from him, she continued, “30-day detail became a ‘until-it’s-done’ detail that kept him almost entirely star-side for the last…Jesus, two years.” To Duo, she added, “I don’t think that’s regulation.”

“It’s not,” he agreed, “but I’m not about to argue with Sally Po.”

“Fair enough.” Turning back to the crowd, Gwen addressed the group once more, “So while the rest of us returned to our cockpits, Duo was getting back to his sleuthing roots as a field agent. I know a few of you were actually running the raids in December. Little did you all know at the time that it was you and about two thousand other people conducting the largest smash-grab operation for the good guys that this organization has ever seen. Or probably _will ever_ see. Not sure the oversight committee was too comfortable with such an awesome display of mass coordination.”

“Probably wasn’t too keen on the price tag either,” Duo added. “‘Major reallocation of assets’ was what I was told.”

Gwen chuckled but soon sobered and pressed forward. “I want to take a moment and bring this back around to why we’re all here – you’re leaving us. You’re leaving the family. And all of these people, much to my _personal_ astonishment, wanted to wish you well.

“As a pilot,” she explained to the crowd, “it’s easy for my world to shrink to the family that is our chain in LM [1] and it boggles my mind how much of this beast of an organization you’ve made an impact on in only six years. Less than six, truly. I have a _stack_ of emails from people who couldn’t make it today but wanted to wish you luck. And that’s of course not including the 100-some people here right now…from across 13 divisions and offices, if I’m remembering correctly, who wanted to be here so that they could personally send you off in style.”

“Or we just wanted to make damn well sure he was gone this time,” came a faceless shout from the crowd, causing laughter to erupt in force, lightening the mood considerably.

“And I’m gonna miss _you_ most of all,” Duo shouted back, grinning.

“I think I can put that concern to bed,” Gwen informed them. “I walked him down to the badging office this afternoon. You guys in the cheap seats can’t see it, but he’s been red carded – can’t go anywhere without a minder now.

“But that said, I _do_ hope we’ll see you around again – sooner rather than later,” she said, lovingly punching Duo’s shoulder. To the other attendees she explained, “In case you haven’t heard, Duo’s been accepted into the hallowed halls of one of the – if not _the_ – most prestigious interpretation programs in all of the Earth Sphere, the Jakarta Institute for Language Studies. For those of you who don’t know the name, you’ve been living under a rock. At least half of all of ESUN’s interpreters go through the program.” To Duo she concluded, “So go make us proud and don’t fuck up.”

In the heartfelt applause that followed, Gwen transitioned to another man – Marcus, Wufei soon discovered – who was a lead pilot of another EXFIL team. He opened the floor to other attendees to recall stories of daring and humiliation in equal measure. Wufei smirked at the memory of a few of them, which he’d heard from Duo himself in most cases. 

“Where’s Yuy?” Marcus suddenly as the most recent speaker stepped back into the fold of the crowd. Duo reached out to grab the other man’s arm, his face suddenly serious and Wufei could read the ‘No, don’t,’ that his lips carried…but it was too late – Marcus had found them. “Heero! Anything to share?”

Wufei heard the sharp inhale from the man beside him and recognized one of Heero’s many tells: he felt cornered. So he spoke first. “The way I see it,” Wufei began, addressing Duo, “all of these people seem to think you’re some cool, collected badass. But between Heero and I, we have more than enough ammunition to utterly destroy you and your street cred.” He kept his tone light, teasing, as the crowd chuckled. And then he got down to business. “So what will you give us to keep our mouths shut?”

There was a flash of understanding in Duo’s blue eyes before he shifted gears. Wufei thought he played ‘flustered’ and ‘mildly terrified’ rather well. “I’ll buy you guys lunch. And dinner. Drinks too. And…uh…I’ll…restock the kitchen. And clean the apartment…” 

The words rolled off his tongue easily enough. In the corner of his eye, Wufei registered Heero picking up on the game, tilting his head to the side as if he was considering the offers as they came.

“I’ll…uh…replace the coffee maker that’s gone on the fritz. And pay the whole utility bill for this month—”

Wufei raised his hand, halting Duo’s stammering, and turned to Heero for the final say. The man shrugged and nodded. Turning back to Marcus, Wufei said only, “I don’t think we have anything of interest to add to this conversation.”

“Everything you all have shared is par for the course, as it stands,” Heero threw in for good measure.

Duo released an explosive sigh while the rest of the crowd laughed heartily. Marcus observed, “That was quite an…impressive display of blackmail between friends. When do you leave again?”

“Two weeks,” Duo groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Sounds like you’ve got a busy and…ah, _expensive_ two weeks ahead.”

Duo cursed and looked every bit concerned, “Don’t I know it. Shit…”

Later – after stories were shared, the roast was complete, and their guest of honor was finally allowed to express sincere if brief thanks to those who had come – Duo found them in a far corner avoiding the throng to the best of their abilities. “Nice performance,” he observed upon approach, a bottle of some Belgian beer in hand.

“Likewise,” Wufei commended. “Though I am going to hold you to that promise of a new coffee maker.”

Duo laughed, “Alright, alright…”

“When did you find out about the school?” Heero asked, changing the subject.

“They told me a week ago that I had been ‘short listed,’ but I got notice that I’d made the cut this morning. Considering the utter lack of formal education, I’m assuming they were looking into my references.”

“I imagine having the Preventers Director vouch for an applicant is not something they see often,” Heero noted.

Duo took a drink from his beer and swallowed around a dry laugh. “No, probably not.”

“Speaking of…incoming,” Wufei warned as none other than Renilde Une entered the conference room. 

Taken aback by the size of the crowd for only a second, she scanned the room and upon finding them, took long strides in her ever-present stilettos toward them, agents parting before her like the Red Sea. “Gentlemen,” she greeted when she reached them. “Agent Maxwell,” she added, focusing her gaze directly on Duo.

“Ma’am,” he answered with a wide grin. “Can I get you a drink?”

Wufei thought he saw a hint of a smile at the offer. “If only,” she told him. “I can’t stay long – my assistant is hovering outside ready to drag me off to yet another meeting. But I wanted to personally thank you for everything you done. I trust you received the medal of merit that we arranged?”

At this, Wufei shot a sidelong glance at Heero who appeared as curious as he felt. Both of them turned their sights on Duo, who flushed a bit under the combined attention. “Yes, Ma’am. This morning. At the LM senior staff meeting.”

“Good. Sally fought off several other Deputies so that she could give it to you herself. I’m glad she got the chance.” Withdrawing an envelope from the binder in her hands, she told him, “I also wanted to give you this. It’s a copy of your recommendation letter. I thought you might want it for posterity’s sake.” 

Duo smiled up at her – because even after all these years, it was still indeed ‘up’ – and thanked her, taking the envelope in his left hand. Transfer made, she clasped his free right hand in her own. 

“I also wanted to let you know that your clearances have been extended for another five years. Just in case,” she told him, a conspiratorial smile gracing her lips. Turning to Wufei, she informed him in no uncertain terms, “I’m trusting in you to get him back in the ranks, Zhang.”

Wufei fought the grin that tugged at his lips, “Understood, Ma’am.” And as quickly as she had arrived, she was gone.

That evening found the three of them back in the apartment Wufei and Heero shared, Duo setting up the recently-purchased coffee maker (as promised) while Wufei perused Une’s recommendation letter from his seat on the couch. Heero joined him there, curling himself into the opposite corner.

“Have you read this?” Wufei asked, his eyes still locked on the recommendation letter’s text while he called over the back of the couch at Duo.

“No,” the other man answered promptly from the kitchen.

“You should.”

“I’d rather not.”

This gave Wufei pause and he looked up from the printed page, first at Heero – who shook his head, a silent assertion he knew nothing about it – and then back in the general direction of Duo’s voice. “Why not?”

“Because it did its job,” Duo told him, reappearing to lean up against the archway which led back into the kitchen. “I’m going to school. What’s it matter what it says?”

“You need to read this,” Wufei urged again, holding the letter out to him, insistent. 

“No.”

“Can I read it to you?”

“Wufei.”

“How about just one line?” Wufei turned back to the paper in-hand and before Duo could protest, he recited, “‘There are only a handful of people with whom I would trust the future of this new world, and Duo Maxwell is among them.’” Looking up at Duo, he found the other man’s opposition flagging.

“She said that?” Duo asked, taking a few hesitant steps towards them. 

“Can I see?” Heero asked from where he sat beside Wufei, who passed the letter over without a second thought.

“She did,” Wufei said, answering Duo. “She said much more than that, too.”

“She’s including ‘M’ in this,” Heero told them both.

“…Really?”

Wufei nodded; Heero replied, “She says she’s known you for eight years. Obviously that includes the events of 195.” Heero flipped the letter around and leaned over the back of the couch so that text faced Duo. “You need to take this with you. This and the award from Sally.”

“Why?”

“Now you’re just being petulant,” Wufei reprimanded, dropping his head back against the couch cushions and staring up at the ceiling. “You need to take them to remind you of what you’re capable of when academia starts getting you down.”

Heero added, “And everything in here is true. Including the fact that the woman who tried to kill us several times over now trusts the future of the free world to you.”

Wufei couldn’t help but smile at that. “So no pressure or anything…”

Duo grimaced, but didn’t appear to have any fight left in him. He held out his hand for the letter, which Heero carefully folded before passing it back to the other man. “Put it in the box,” Heero instructed. “The medal too. And then let’s go to dinner.”

Duo nodded and observed them quietly for a moment. Then, sliding the folded edge of the letter between his fingertips, he squinted down at the two of them and said, “Ya know, I’m not sure I like this whole ‘tag teaming on Duo’ thing that’s developed with you guys…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] As a reminder, LM = Logistics and Mission Support Division


	5. Chapter 5

**Winner Family Compound  
L4-V05001  
203 June 4**

“Hope you don’t mind – you’re on the hostel WiFi.”

“Ah, so insecure!” Quatre laughed from the comfort of the couch in his study, the tablet held firmly in-hand. “Very unlike you.”

The grainy video feed lagged a bit but it was easy to see Duo’s displeasure with the situation, the other man’s eyes and nose both scrunching in a pained grimace. “I know. I need a permanent address before I can set my system up for calls, local or otherwise. So free WiFi it will be until that happens. 

“Good news is that I’ve shortlisted a few places this week,” Duo continued, “so hopefully I’ll be out of here sooner rather than later.”

“Have you gotten any downtime between apartment visits?” Quatre asked. “I certainly hope so – classes start next month, if I remember correctly.”

Duo nodded, with a half-hearted shrug. “Some, yes. I got some suggestions from Wufei and Heero before I came out here. They’ve apparently only been to Jakarta a couple times – there’s some other guy on the team who monopolizes the Indonesia portfolio or something. Anyway,” he added, “I’ve at least figured out public transit and have managed to feed myself for a week, so I’ve got that going for me.”

“You really should give yourself some time to explore, you know,” Quatre urged, fighting the envious spark that grew in his belly. How nice it would be to travel and _just_ travel… “You won’t have much time to yourself once school starts.”

Duo’s departure from Preventers had not been much of a surprise to Quatre. Although he had heard little about the case that had sapped the other man’s time and energy for several years over, he could feel the exhaustion it wrought every time he reached out with the amorphous thing his childhood tutor had called a ‘Space Heart’ – unseen tendrils of his subconscious seeking out familiar frequencies across the silence of space. Duo’s wavelength had grown dimmer and dimmer as the case wore on, bringing ever growing concern with it…until last autumn, when a sudden burst of light had lanced through Quatre’s brain like an ice pick and made his heart race. Since then, Duo came in as technicolor determination and the steady drumbeat of the forward march.

“Quat…”

Taken aback by the sudden wave of anxiety that that one syllable held, Quatre leaned closer to the camera and prompted, “Yes?”

Duo wouldn’t meet his eyes, his own gaze held by something off-camera. “I’m nervous,” he said at last. “I wasn’t until…until I woke up here a few days back, when it hit me that I’m _actually_ doing this.” Duo’s face twitched into one of his self-deprecating smiles, which Quatre hated to see and knew all too well. Before he could protest, Duo continued, “I mean…I don’t exactly have academic credentials, ya know? And when I was applying…it was just something to do, something that wasn’t Preventers. But now that I’m in…suddenly there are _expectations_. What if…what if I’m not good at this?” Duo breathed a dry laugh and finally raised his eyes back to the camera to ask, “I mean…shit, what if they don’t like me?”

The reprimand died on Quatre’s lips at the questions. Doubt was a painfully familiar thing and he felt his heart ache at the sound of it. Offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he told him, “You have never failed to rise to the challenge – any challenge – that has set itself in front of you, Duo. It’s part of what makes you who you are, and I’d wager is why so many people are banking on you doing well: you’ve never given them a reason to doubt you.

“As to making friends, you’ve never had any problems with that, and anyone who doesn’t like you is an asshole who you don’t need in your life anyway. And speaking on an _insecure line_ —”

“Sorry, sorry…”

“—I can assure you that I have every confidence in your abilities to deal with…ah, _adversarial_ situations.”

Duo snickered at this, his mood clearly lightened and confidence suitably bolstered. Quatre smiled. _Good._ It wouldn’t do for their intrepid hotshot pilot-cum-student to be uncertain at this stage. Gently, he added, “You’re a rough-edged spacer baby like the rest of us, Duo – you’re made of _galaxies._ So keep your head up, your chest out, and _murder_ in your belly because none of these Earth-borne classmates are gonna know what hit them.”


	6. Chapter 6

**The City, Singapore  
203 June 30**

Heero stepped out of the lobby of the Fullerton Hotel and into the waiting cab, his strides in step with those of his partner’s. They mirrored one another, synchronized fluidity practiced to perfection over the years working together. His lips quirked in a wry smile at the thought – who could have guessed that his and Wufei’s frequencies would have aligned so well. 

They’d departed Geneva a couple days ago; they’d arrived to Singapore’s heat, jetlagged and sore from a pair of flights and a long layover in Charles de Gaulle. Now, as they stepped into the car, they ran through the day’s itinerary of meetings and office calls and briefings that their division had requested. Jetlagged or no, the day would be long, even by their standards.

But as their driver was about to turn onto Esplanade Drive, the unmistakable boom of a large explosion ripped through the early morning traffic, followed shortly thereafter by the squealing of breaks from vehicles in every direction. Turning to look back over the water, they watched as smoke billowed from the Marina Bay Sands several stories up. 

Heero grit his teeth and sighed, “I hate it when work comes to us…” Leaning forward, he instructed their frightened cab driver to change course and head _back_ the way they’d come.

Meanwhile, Wufei was already on the phone with dispatch. “This is agent Zhang, Wufei. Badge number bravo-6-6-tango-2-3-xray-romeo-2-9. Reporting an explosion at the Marina Sands. Heading over with my partner to assist.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Unit #1298, Mosaic Towers [1]  
Jakarta, Indonesia  
203 July 25**

“I noticed a gender bias in my program today,” Duo said, dropping his bag to the floor and sliding out of his shoes upon entering the apartment. Walking into the kitchen, he found his roommate already cooking up a storm, and so he hopped up onto a barstool at the island to watch. 

Duo fully recognized how fortunate he had been to find Jackson Baird, or simply ‘Jax’ as he preferred to be called. Another expat in the city, the man had several years and several inches on him, and was enrolled in a sister institution to Duo’s. They had clicked easily enough upon their first meeting during Duo’s apartment search over the summer – Duo had found that the other man had an earnest streak in him that stilled the butterflies in his stomach.

“Oh really?” Jax asked him without turning from the four hot skillets on the stovetop. 

Duo was becoming increasingly impressed with his roommate’s ability to multi-task in the kitchen, an art which he himself had been as of yet incapable of mastering. He watched the man bounce from one to the other as he said, “Yeah. I looked around me in each of my classes and noticed a pattern. At the end of the day I realized, ‘Damn. I’m surrounded by intelligent, beautiful, multi-lingual women…save for that wormy guy in the corner.’ Did I pick the right academic track or what?” 

This earned him a healthy dose of laughter from Jax as the man shut off the burners and turned to their cabinets to pull down a couple plates. “I assume you haven’t eaten yet,” he tossed over his shoulder, not waiting for an answer before he served for the two of them.

Duo winced. “I’m depleting your supplies once again, I see.”

Jax shook his head and finally turned to level a disapproving look at his roommate. “Hardly. Food’s only good when shared,” he assured Duo, setting a plate down in front of him with a measure of decisiveness that Duo found eerily familiar to some other young men he knew personally. “Dig in – you’ll need it if you want to stay at your A Game for your classmates.”

Duo chuckled and shook his head at that, tucking into the offered meal while the other man sidled up beside him. As he took a seat, Jax popped the caps off of two bottles of beer and handed one over, which Duo gratefully accepted. “So how are _your_ classes going?” he asked.

“They don’t offer nearly the same dating prospects that yours do, I assure you,” the other man told him between bites. “The seminar I’m in – on cross-ESUN trade with colonial markets? My first discovery was how little anyone in the room knew about it. My second discovery was how little _I_ knew about it.”

This admission garnered a jaded laugh from Duo. “So what have you learned so far?”

“Primarily? That L2’s got two things going for it that nobody else has.”

“Oh yeah?” Duo countered, eyeing his roommate. “What’s that?”

“God,” Jax began, holding up one finger for emphasis and then adding a second, “and good music.” Duo groaned and took a long pull from the beer bottle in hand while his roommate laughed. “I agree wholeheartedly. But everyone in the seminar is starting from zero. _Less_ than zero, even. How can we begin to have intelligent conversation about the future of a colonial economy without knowing how it got to where it is now? But _no one_ wants to ask the tough questions. And arguably,” he added, “no one is really qualified to _answer_ the tough questions either, being – what do you call us? – _‘ground-bounders’_ and all.” 

Duo laughed at this and poked at his dinner, turning to look at his roommate full-on. “I’ll make you a deal,” he began. “I’ll tell you about the colonies, if you teach me how to cook.”

“I’m hardly a master chef, Duo.”

“And I’m not an anthropologist,” he shot back, grinning to soften the blow, “but I’m the one people go to when they have questions, it seems.”

Jax offered an apologetic smile. “You got me there.”

“So…deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good,” Duo said, sealing their agreement by clinking their bottles together in a friendly toast. “Of course you know I have to take a baseline…”

“Like any good budding academic,” Jax mused, grinning.

“Who created the colonies and why?”

“Trick question – answer is lots of people because of lots of reasons.”

“Cheap answer. Try harder.”

Jax laughed. “Okay, so lots of people but because of overpopulation and subsequent problems thereof.”

“Not quite right,” Duo said, quirking his head to the side, taking another pull from his beer before he continued. “Overpopulation is true, but it neglects the _primary_ impetus, which was the Last Great War. There was a movement to get the hell off-planet in a hurry. People were tired of killing each other.” Looking up at his roommate, he smirked. “Maybe there was something in the water.” [2]

There was a pause before Jax picked up on the barb. “Ha ha,” came the monotonous reply.

“Sorry, sorry. A’ight, let’s go through the clusters then. L1. Constructed by…?”

“The Pan-Asian Bloc.”

“Correct. L2?”

“The…Western Hemisphere…Treaty…?”

“Trade.”

“— _Trade_ Organization.”

“Now defunct for all intents and purposes. L3?” 

“The Eurasian and African Unions cooperated on that cluster.”

“Not bad for an Earthling,” Duo acknowledged. “This may be easier than I thought.”

“I like to consider myself above-average. L4 was done by the Alliance of Middle Eastern States.”

“With heavy financial backing from the Winner family,” Duo added.

“Don’t they own like…all the infrastructure?” Jax asked, taking another bite from his dinner.

“‘Own’ may be too strong a word for it, but they certainly invented a lot of it. L5?”

“Built by the Chinese Federation to house its political radicals.”

Duo winced and held up a finger to pause the conversation. “Ah, minus five points. The population of L5 was no more or less crazy than any other colonial cluster at the outset. They were sent there because their ideas didn’t jive with those of the Federation’s leadership. To the Federation, progress always meant looking forward. To look back, you’ll lose yourself in your mistakes. The population that would become that of L5 felt that without embracing your roots, you’re doomed from the beginning to make the same mistakes you always did. Not an easy sell on Earth. L5 wasn’t born radical; it _became_ that way with time. 

“We can talk for days on how these islands evolved – be it economically or otherwise – but first you need to accept that colonial culture is what happens when you put several million people in a rotating petri dish in the sky and prevent _any_ interaction with their cohort for almost 100 years.” Duo paused to let that sink in. “That’s a long time to develop in the void when the only outside interaction you have is either illegal activity or oppression.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Duo ends up in a two-bed/two-bath unit in Jakarta’s “Golden Triangle,” a neighborhood loaded with business and commercial facilities in the Setiabudi sub-district. His unit is inspired at least in part by apartments at [VERDE](http://www.verde.co.id/).
> 
> [2] 71 percent of Earth’s surface is covered in water.


	8. Chapter 8

**Preventers Headquarters  
Geneva, Switzerland  
203 August 28**

The phone at his elbow rang, startling Wufei out of his thoughts. Dragging his attention away from his field report with some irritation, he registered the foreign number with some curiosity before picking up the receiver.

“Agent Chang—” the man on the other end of the line began, and Wufei winced at the pronunciation. “—my name’s Mark Eriksson and I’m calling from the New York Preventers Branch Office. I believe you spoke with the Chief some time last year about a potential opening we had posted?”

“Yes?” Wufei prompted. As it happened, he did remember. The posting had come in over the wire last winter and he had inquired after it…only to discover that the start date coincided with Duo’s anticipated departure. Something in him – loyalty, perhaps – had told him that leaving Geneva at such a time would be unwise and unfair to the man he shared an office with, and so had bowed out of the running. He did, however, tell the hiring manager in New York that if ever they were looking for two seasoned field agents, to give him a call. 

“Well, we had to wait for numbers to settle out for the next fiscal year, but we have it in our budget to provide the prerequisite _two_ positions, if you’re still interested.”

Wufei smirked. “Let me ask him.” Resting the phone receiver on his shoulder, he turned to his partner. “Hey Heero – want to transfer to New York?”

Heero looked up at him, quite thoroughly confused. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, one of their teammates swung into the doorway. “Hey guys – orders from above. You’re tapped to head to Laos tomorrow afternoon.”

“I thought Wek was on point this time,” Heero countered.

The young man shook his head apologetically. “Family issues. You’re up. I’ll see you at the briefing this afternoon,” he said, and slipped away just as suddenly as he’d appeared.

A moment of silence stretched between them, but then Heero turned to Wufei and asked, “How soon can we leave?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Unit #1312, Preventers HQ Subsidized Housing Complex**  
**Geneva, Switzerland**  
**203 September 19**

Quatre sat cross-legged on Heero’s bed surrounded by half-filled boxes. His hair was a mousey brown today, his clothes screaming of a job in manual labor – ripped jeans and all. From his vantage point, he watched Heero agonize over the inventory. Six years effectively spent in one place meant he’d acquired a fair amount of material clutter, a fact that even Heero himself had not quite fully understood when he and Wufei agreed to the transfer to New York City. 

“Heero, it’s just a move,” Quatre reassured. “Humans have relocated for as long as we’ve walked the Earth. Duo just did this.”

“Duo only took two suitcases and a box,” Heero grumbled.

Quatre shrugged, undeterred. “So Duo’s a minimalist. Wufei certainly is not. And apparently neither are you,” he observed, peeking into one of the boxes beside him. The contents – to his surprise – didn’t appear to have any logic: a few books, ticket stubs, a band shirt of all things…Quatre wagered that Duo or Hilde had something to do with the last.

There was a heavy sigh from the other man, which drew Quatre’s attention. Heero stood in the middle of the room, his back to him and his fingers twisted in his dark hair in a clear show of exasperation.

He looked uncharacteristically overwhelmed, which struck Quatre as rather unfortunate. So he changed tacks. Gently, he asked, “What’s not important?”

“None of it,” Heero murmured, letting his hands fall to his side as he looked over his shoulder at the other man.

Quatre’s gaze softened and he amended, “What’s _replaceable_?” Heero turned back to survey the room with these new parameters. “The bed,” Quatre suggested. “The shelves, the books—”

“But—”

“Heero, I could buy you new copies of anything they lost in transit,” Quatre assured him. “You know that.”

Heero shifted uncomfortably for a moment before grumbling, “I can buy my own books…”

“Then you have nothing to worry about. In the boxes they go,” he instructed, hopping to his feet, intent to go find their missing friend. Patting Heero on the shoulder as he passed, he told him, “We’ll take a break in a few hours to go get dinner. In the meantime, one thing after another. And whenever you start to get nervous, just remind yourself that hundreds of billions of people for all of Earth’s history have done this. If they can move to a space colony on some rickety old shuttle, you can change continents.”

Leaving Heero to his own devices, Quatre wandered through the small apartment with some nostalgia of his own. He couldn’t say he’d known it like the back of his own hand – he’d rarely spent time here over the years – but it was certainly _lived in_ , as they say. Duo and Heero, and later Wufei, and turned the small apartment into a home it seemed, if the emptiness that he felt walking passed the now-barren walls was any indication. 

He found Wufei sitting on the couch, enjoying a coffee and an old book Quatre could only assume he’d discovered in the depths of his belongs. There were towers of boxes where the dining table used to be. “I take it you did the kitchen too,” Quatre observed as he dropped down onto the couch beside the other man.

Wufei nodded and then offered a half-hearted and lop-sided grin, which reminded Quatre eerily of a fourth party of their ragged band. “It was all mine anyway.”

Quatre chuckled at that, knowing full well that Heero was not particularly apt in the kitchen. Shifting gears, he asked, “Do you have an apartment lined up yet? I know you were actually in New York last week…”

The other man took another drink from his cup and shook his head. He shut the book in his hand, setting it aside, and shifted to face Quatre more directly on the couch. “We had planned to look for a place while there, but we spent the bulk of it on-boarding with the office,” Wufei told him. It sounded to Quatre like he was still mildly irritated by this fact, as if the Branch Office had unknowingly thrown wrench into meticulously laid plans. “We did get to explore a bit though. Don’t tell Heero, but this will be expensive.”

Quatre chuckled at that. “I’m sure you’ll find something suitable.”

“One can only hope…”


	10. Chapter 10

**Purcell’s House, Westminster School  
London, United Kingdom  
203 October 4**

Mariemaia Khushrenada had disappeared after Dekim Barton’s insurrection. She was presumed dead by the eve of AC 198 by nearly everyone, save those chosen few who had stood by her bedside while she lay unconscious in an intensive care unit in Belgium, a nameless little girl in a sea of a city. 

A year later, Marie Peters [1] – a soft-spoken nine-year-old with a shock of brilliant red hair – arrived in London with her equally soft-spoken mother. She had been accepted into Westminster’s boarding school with exceptional haste after a private conversation with the Head Mistress behind closed doors. Years later, ‘Marie’ would still remember the older woman’s wide-eyed stare that bounced frantically between Une and herself. The exchange had fueled a barely stifled fit of laughter that the two of them shared as they walked hand-in-hand toward the Registrar to complete her enrollment.

She had loathed the inevitable departure, however, something which shaken her deeply at the time. For nearly a year after her release from the hospital, she had lived quietly with Un, hidden away from the public eye. They had shared a period of time colored by shared uncertainty, and – on Mariemaia’s part – no small amount of distrust. Following Dekim’s betrayal, she had found herself second guessing the motivations of adults. But with a steadying hand when the nightmares came, and a pointed effort to speak to her as an equal, Une had slowly and surely won her over…just in time for Mariemaia to make herself scarce and disappear into the hallowed halls of some distant school.

And so every two weeks since their separating, she would make a pre-paid video call to Une to dutifully inform her about her studies, the goings-on with her extra-curriculars, and most especially the mishaps that she and her friends had yet again narrowly avoided getting expelled over. 

This time, however, Mariemaia lapsed into uncharacteristic silence, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she retreated into her private thoughts, which had grown rather gloomy over the course of the last few weeks.

“What is it, dear?”

On anyone else’s lips, the endearment would have sounded condescending; but somehow her foster mother succeeded in keeping her tone earnest. Mariemaia supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised: Une was a leader of hundreds of thousands as Preventers Director, and had never once treated her with anything other than absolute respect. “They don’t know,” she said, at last able to put her anxieties into words. “None of them know. To them, I’m just ‘Marie.’”

“An unfortunate but necessary truth.”

“Oh, I know. It’s not that,” she assured. “It’s more…they know _this_ me, this ‘Marie.’ And…and they like her. Marie, I mean. She’s just like them, just another girl in their class. 

“But what happens when they find out?” she continued. “What happens when they find out ‘Marie’ is really ‘Mariemaia?’ That the whole time she didn’t talk about her family is because her lineage threatens war, and the reason she never rebelled against the dress code is because she has a hole in her chest. Will they still like her, do you think?”

Through the video feed, Mariemaia thought she saw a flash of empathy in Une’s dark eyes. She resonated a familiar strength, as if bolted together by years’ of painstakingly crafted resolve. “I don’t know what they’ll do any more than you do,” the woman admitted. “But when the time comes, know that you were never anyone but yourself and their friend, even if you couldn’t tell them your entire personal history.” This last held a caustic edge of a woman who was far too familiar with the ever-present eyes of society. It made Mariemaia smile. 

When Une spoke next, her voice was gentle. “You’re well on your way to becoming a wonderful young woman with a very big heart. In a couple years, you’ll graduate and it will be up to you where you go from there. But for now,” she concluded, “leave contingency planning to the side and focus on the present, alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] ‘Khusrenada’ and ‘Barton’ are out for surnames, and passing Une’s own name to the girl would have made connecting dots too easy. Giving the Mariemaia a generic name completely unconnected to either of them would allow her greater mobility through anonymity.


	11. Chapter 11

**Apartment #718**  
**New York, New York**  
**203 October 30**

Heero ducked his head out of the bathroom, his hair damp and cheeks pink from the shower. He could’ve sworn he’d heard a ring…

There it was – the steady chirping of an incoming vid call. Hanging his towel up on the hook behind the door, he pulled a t-shirt on over his head and ducked into his bedroom. On his laptop’s screen, the call alert blinked insistently until he tapped the graphic to accept it. 

Duo Maxwell’s haggard face greeted him from half a world away, the apartment dark around him, the shadows encroaching from behind. It looked to Heero like he was sitting at a counter or bar top of some sort, the overhead lighting putting the angles of his face in stark relief. A glance of something with ice sat between him and the computer screen and his cheeks were flushed. He was alone.

“Duo?” Heero asked by way of greeting. “Where’s your roommate?”

“He went out with some of our friends. I…didn’t feel like joining them tonight.” Duo gave him a once-over, and smirked. “Please tell me you did not just wake up. I know it’s a weekend and all, but…”

“I went for a run.”

“Where’s ‘Fei?”

“Out of town at some conference.” Duo nodded, seemingly pleased that he wasn’t the only one flying solo at the moment. This coupled with the glass that sat between them prompted Heero to ask, “What’s wrong?”

Duo’s grin grew strained. “I, uh…” He bit his lip and his gaze turned inward. “You…you know how I was up in L2 for a while?”

The question was rhetorical, but Heero nodded nonetheless. “Yes, of course.”

“I, uh…After the case wrapped, I went to the precinct we were working with. Talked to their cold cases, missing persons. Gave them a blood sample. They told me they’d get back to me if they found anything. Never heard anything.” He took a deep breath and expelled it with a laugh. “Until now, apparently.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I asked them to find her – find my mom.” He bit his lip again and shook his head looking away from the camera. “Sure as shit if they did.” He spat the words moments before downing the contents of his glass and pouring himself another from the bottle just outside of the frame. 

“Wait,” Heero urged, holding up a finger before turning away from the video feed. He fled his room for the kitchen with quick strides and, opening one of the overhead cabinets, pulled out both a glass and a bottle of vodka. _Dehydration be damned,_ he thought as he dropped some ice cubes from the freezer into his glass, hearing them clink against the sides. Spinning on his heel, he retreated to the room and shut the door behind him with his foot.

“You’re not drinking alone,” he said, leaving no room for argument. 

Duo laughed low and dark as Heero poured himself a glass. “Isn’t it like… _noon_ there?”

“What’s that phrase Hilde uses? ‘Five o’clock somewhere?’”

“That’s the one,” Duo nodded, throwing back the second – or rather, the second that Heero had seen – glass. He lapsed into silence as he poured a third and Heero watched him tilt the drink back and forth on the counter top upon which the laptop rested, lost in thought. 

At last, Heero prompted, “Tell me about her.”

Duo dragged his eyes back up to him and leaned forward, sliding the glass to the side and out of the way as he crossed his arms underneath him. “She was a smart one – an engineer. Did all sorts of work keepin’ the colony running, apparently. She was…she was killed in a raid. This facility she was in…had ‘separatist sympathies.’” Duo all but spat the words. “They razed it to the ground. Killed a lot of people…” He trailed off and leaned back again, scrubbing at his face with a groan. 

Heero didn’t speak and chose the moment to instead make short work of the contents of his glass, pouring himself another even as the liquor burned his insides. 

“Wanna see her?” 

At the question, Heero brought his gaze back up to the screen and nodded. Duo clicked something off-camera and a file transfer icon appeared in the corner of Heero’s. Reaching out, he tapped his screen and a picture appeared on the side. Dated for AC 182, the I.D. photo showed a young woman, hardly much older than they were now. Her dark hair held shocks of auburn fire and framed her heart-shaped face in gentle waves. Her lips were quirked in a pinched, lop-sided smile – as if she’d been caught laughing before the photo had been shot – and her eyes were an all too familiar blue-violent. 

The resemblance was uncanny. Heero found it suddenly very difficult to breathe.

“She’s pretty, yeah?”

“She looks like you.” He regretted the words the moment they slipped from his lips, watching Duo’s grin falter as his self-control fractured even further. 

There was a sniff and Duo turned away from the camera again, his eyes downcast and shadowed in the darkness of the apartment. “I remember her, you know,” came the muttered admission. “I forgot her face, but she was always there. In the back of my head.”

“What do you remember?” 

Duo took another deep breath and released it slowly. “I remember her bringing me to work. That she’d play with me. That she loved me. Then…then I remember…emergency lighting and a tunnel and her telling me to run.” He took another swig of his drink but it was half-hearted. Meeting Heero’s eyes through the camera, he asked, “Do you remember your parents?”

The question brought images unbidden to his mind’s eye. A man with rough hands and easy smile, a woman with long, delicate fingers, a courtyard with a tree…gunshots and sudden silences. “No,” he said simply.

If Duo noticed anything in his face, he said nothing of it, only nodding and finishing off his glass. “May be better that way,” he murmured. “Now that I know…I’m not sure I'm happier for it.”

“It’s better that you know,” Heero told him. When Duo shot him a doubtful glare, he added, “It closes a chapter. What you do with this knowledge is up to you.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Jakarta, Indonesia  
203 November 11**

Duo rocked back on his heels while they rode the elevator down to the ground floor of the apartment building. He and his classmate Seo-yeon had just wrapped a marathon prep session for their exams; Jax had offered to walk with them to the MRT station as moral support, his smirk firmly in place at the uncharacteristic anxiety Duo was convinced the man could feel radiating off of him. Seo-yeon’s own frayed nerves did little to help. 

“I don’t know why _you’re_ nervous,” she told Duo as the three of them walked out of the lobby and into Jakarta’s balmy autumn. “You never seem to have any trouble with simultaneous. Ever.”

“It’s not the objective; it’s the audience,” Duo countered, shaking his head. “The fact that the rest of the class knows what’s being said means I’m not _actually_ serving a purpose. Pressure’s almost not high enough to guarantee I don’t choke.” He then cocked his head to the side, considering something before he cracked a conniving grin. “Unless of course I can convince someone to point a gun at me.”

“What?” Seo-yeon stared at him, agape. Missing a step, she had to quickly catch up with the other two so as not to get left behind.

“No, I’m serious,” he insisted. “It’s a whole lot easier to get everything out when you’re faced with imminent death. No time for doubt: it’s not that you won’t make a mistake, it’s that you don’t care that you will, and it won’t really matter in the end anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure your campus has a no-weapons policy,” Jax informed him, shaking his head and chuckling.

“Damn, well there goes that idea.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Grand Ballroom, The Plaza Hotel  
New York, New York  
203 December 1**

_Well, if nothing else, New York can clearly throw a decent party,_ Wufei mused as he sipped at the flute champagne in-hand. He had been surprised to hear that he and Heero were tapped among a small cadre of the Branch’s agents to attend the annual winter charity event co-hosted with the NYPD. As neither had considered the possibility of needing anything more formal than a suit and tie during their move from Geneva, they’d lost what Wufei felt was an exorbitant amount of their day preparing for the event. 

So he thanked their luck that they were off the clock and alcohol was flowing. He turned to share his opinion on the matter with Heero, but found him…preoccupied.

His partner was staring. 

Not at him, of course, but someone else. When Wufei turned to follow the other’s gaze, he found Heero’s gaze locked on a tall blond at the other side of the hall. He turned back to his partner, befuddled, but Heero maintained his vigil uninterrupted. Wufei turned back to give the other man another once-over. He didn’t recognize him. “Do you know him?” he asked.

Heero all but jumped out of his skin at the question, a reaction Wufei hadn’t anticipated. Recovering quickly, he asked, “Who?”

“The guy you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes.”

The muscles in Heero’s jaw clenched – Guilty? Embarrassed? – and he shook his head, turning his gaze to focus somewhere over Wufei’s shoulder…but not before he took another furtive glance at the man across the room.

Wufei turned again to find that Heero had caught the mystery man’s attention from afar, and he saw something he recognized in those eyes. 

Interest. Curiosity. 

_Attraction._

Understanding dawned suddenly. _Oh. Oh!_ Wufei turned back to Heero and told him, “Go say ‘hello.’”

“What?” Heero shot back.

“Go talk to him,” Wufei urged again, patting his partner’s shoulder as he moved away in the direction of the bartender, who was conveniently stationed in the opposite direction, “and let me know how it turns out.” 

Wufei closed the distance to the bar and handed over his now-empty flute, grabbing a fresh drink and watched things unfold from afar. By the time he’d turned back, Heero was already making his way through the throng to the other man, who graced him with a wide, confident smile. Wufei waited until he assumed names were exchanged with a handshake, which only drew Heero closer to the other man, before further abandoning his roommate and darting to another cluster of agents he recognized to keep himself occupied. Throughout the evening, however, Wufei kept tabs on his partner via stolen glances from the corner of his eye and looks cast over the shoulders of his various conversation partners. 

It was not until the soiree drew to a close that he watched the blond man bid farewell to Heero with a lingering touch at his elbow and a whispered word. Only then did Wufei dare to stare straight-on. Left alone once more, Heero searched the crowd for a moment until their eyes met. Wufei had never seen the other man so wide-eyed terrified. 

It was glorious.

Biting back the laugh that threatened to bubble up from his chest, he shrugged and mouthed, “Well?” Still quite apparently shell-shocked, Heero flicked a business card up between two fingers in response. Wufei did laugh then and raised his glass to toast his partner from across the room.


	14. Chapter 14

**Apartment #718  
New York, New York  
203 December 6**

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite so out of your depth,” came the bemused observation from behind him.

Heero groaned. “Don’t say that,” he pleaded, looking back over his shoulder at Trowa, who stood leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, grinning a wry smile. The other man’s words only seemed to confirm the doubts that had kick-started the anxious fluttering in his belly.

Not even a week had gone by since his attention had been so wholly stolen by one Jason Moran. Forced into conversation by his partner that fateful evening, Heero had discovered the man was one of New York’s top psychologists and a notable behavioral profiler on NYPD’s payroll. Through conversation, he’d also ascertained the man had an affinity for nice clothes, good wine, and challenging conversations. 

Heero meanwhile had discovered he had affinity for attractive men. He didn’t consider that a fair trade in the slightest.

Twice since the reception, he’d nearly cancelled his planned rendezvous and twice he’d been forestalled, first by Wufei and then by Trowa (the latter of whom had arrived unannounced as he was wont to do). 

But now, faced with the imminent evening out with the man, Heero felt his resolve flagging once more as he stared at the contents of his closet feeling hopelessly overwhelmed.

Sensing movement off to the side, Heero turned and watched Trowa push off and away from the doorframe and close the distance between them. Bracing his long-fingered hands on his hips, he joined Heero before the closet and perused its contents for a moment. Without asking for any further permission, Trowa started rifling through Heero’s clothes, withdrawing a pair of black slacks and handed them to the other man. “Wear those. They look tailored—”

“They are—”

Pulling a blue and a red collared shirt and held both up near Heero’s face. “Wear the blue,” he said, shoving that shirt into Heero’s arms as well while he turned to hang the red one back up amongst its cohorts. “Also…” he added, turning to the ties that hung in the corner and pulling a simple black one from the bunch, “go retro and wear this one.” 

Turning finally to Heero, whose arms were now filled with clothes, he lay his hands on the other man’s shoulders and leaned down to meet his bewildered gaze. “And just be yourself, okay?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Heero admitted.

Trowa laughed at this. “Don’t be,” Trowa assured, releasing him and taking a couple steps toward the door. “He’s the one who asked you out, remember.” He paused then, his hand on the doorknob, poised to close it behind him as he stepped out. “He’s already interested.”

*****

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. They’d gone to dinner, grabbed a coffee, walked for a time…and Heero had had to admit he’d found the whole endeavor rather pleasant. He’d been loath to bring it to its inevitable end.

But when he voiced his need to retire, Jason pulled him into his arms with an insistent strength Heero hadn’t calculated on. Suddenly trapped against the other man, he barely restrained the rising urge to lash out, his fingers twisting in the other man’s shirt as Jason ducked his head and captured his lips with his own in a searing kiss. 

His breath stolen from him, his nerves alight, Heero could do little more than cling to Jason as he held himself upright with barely composed force of will. Keenly aware of every point where their bodies touched, he felt pressure build under the hand at his waist while the other held his chin in place, angling him into the kiss.

_Caught._ The warning bells went off loud and clear in his head, and he found he couldn’t care less.

“I like you, Heero,” Jason told him when they parted, running the pad of his thumb along Heero’s lower lip. “I’d like to get to know you a lot better. What do you think?”

Heero struggled through the haze to murmur, “I think…you should take me home.” His eyes felt heavy, and he couldn’t quite meet the other man’s gaze. His lips still burned from the kiss, their breath mingling in the shred of space between them. 

Against his cheeks he felt the other man exhale what could have been a laugh. “Do you _want_ me to take you home?” Jason asked.

The question brought forth a new wave of uncertainty, stoked further by the fingertips which had begun to stroke the line of his jaw. The scent of the other man filled his nose like some intoxicant. _Want._ Did he want… “I don’t know,” Heero heard himself admit, feeling a thousand miles away.

“Then I’ll take you home,” the other man acknowledged, withdrawing.


	15. Chapter 15

**New York, New York  
203 December 9**

Heero had been mortified when he had been greeted upon his return to the apartment by Trowa and Wufei, who had waited up for him, anxious to hear about “the date.” The poor guy had all but fled into his bedroom with a hasty, “It was fine,” which had been met with raucous laughter from the other two men. He refused to leave the safety of his room for the remainder of the evening, much to the other two men’s unbridled amusement.

The next morning, Trowa had greeted the beginning of the new day as he usually did. Nursing a cup of coffee – he hadn’t slept more than a couple hours after Wufei had eventually retired – he watched the dawn creep into the New York City sky from the relative warmth of the small apartment. 

When Heero emerged from his room, bundled in a blanket and still blinking sleep from his eyes, the sun was just cresting the horizon, obscured by the sea of buildings to the east. Heero joined him, hovering by the window before eventually urging the two of them out onto the chilly fire escape. Once alone…they talked.

It was a rare privilege to see Heero Yuy insecure, and Trowa knew they’d not speak about the conversation in mixed company – either the other man’s slew of questions or Trowa’s best attempts at relationship advice. They’d stayed as such, huddled together as the day further brightened, until eventually Wufei threw open the window, demanded they come inside, and helpfully reminded them of the risks of exposure.

They had spent the rest of the weekend together in the apartment, commiserating or conspiring depending on the topic, and Trowa had been happy for the respite with the two of them. He had been a bit uncertain of the welcome he’d receive when he had popped into town unannounced. He had put some distance between them following the break-up with Quatre, opting instead for electronic communications to keep abreast of changes in their lives to avoid any unnecessary awkwardness: Wufei over the years seemed to have built up a close companionship with Quatre, and Heero…well, suffice to say Quatre’s internal radio receiver was always tuned to Heero’s frequency.

Had there been any reservations on Heero and Wufei’s side, their reunion seemed to have shaken off the dust of their relationship leaving only familiar jabs and easy comradery in its wake. So much so that when Monday came and pulled Wufei and Heero both into the office for crises untold, Trowa waved them off with a smile and words of encouragement – the fight was never done, after all – and a promise to stay another day before departing.

However, once he was left alone in the apartment, Trowa had quickly gone stir-crazy and so out into the city he fled to get lost amidst the ancient brick walk-ups and towering skyscrapers. 

As the winter sun dipped behind the buildings and the sky bled colors of the oncoming night, Trowa ducked into some French coffee shop that was bordered by the monuments of global commerce. He stayed only until he could feel his fingers again, the cold seeping from his cheeks. Once his blood had warmed – and he was once more on his way to being fully caffeinated – Trowa escaped into the jungles of NYC once more.

No sooner at he exited the café that he sensed something amiss up the street to his left. He turned to look and promptly froze.

Quatre Winner was walking toward him, surrounded by a cluster of dark suited bodyguards and flanked by a younger man who could only be his assistant. 

The group hadn’t noticed him yet and Trowa willed his legs to move somewhere, anywhere – out into the street, or back into the coffee shop from whence he’d come – but found himself rooted to the ground.

Trowa’s window for escape closed shortly after when Quatre looked up from his phone and caught him in his sights. His stride faltered for only a second, barely noticeable, before he recovered and walked straight up to Trowa, their eyes nearly level.

Silently, the assistant shot a confused look first at his boss and then at this nameless newcomer before tactfully withdrawing a few steps and busying himself with his mobile. The bodyguards likewise hesitated only a moment before fanning out around them.

Trowa side-eyed the one that folded him into the circle. New York’s passersby watched the proceedings with growing interest, a few of them snapping a photo as they walked by. Trowa inwardly groaned and ducked his head away in a poor attempt to shield himself from prying eyes. 

Quatre paid them no mind, his attention wholly absorbed with his target as he drew closer with confident strides. As the silence stretched between them, Trowa took the time to give the other man a once-over. Clad in an immaculately tailored three-piece gray suit under a black coat he’d yet to button, Quatre exuded wealth and confidence that Trowa supposed came with budding monopolies and growing political influence. 

But despite the appearance, there was something sad in those sea green eyes and Trowa knew he was the only one who could see it. The realization was a surprisingly painful one. He steeled his nerves and drew the familiar poker face carefully down over his features. “Quatre,” he said, opting for brevity.

“Trowa,” Quatre answered, seeming to struggle with what was to follow. He eventually settled on, “I’m surprised to see you.”

“Visiting,” Trowa said. “Was wandering, getting acquainted with the city.” He nodded at one of the suits and deduced, “I assume you’re here on business.”

Quatre drew the shutters down, suddenly the CEO, his face unreadable. “They’ve kept me in meetings most of the day.”

“If you decide to attempt a jailbreak, head for the Rock. The view may help you breathe easier.” Trowa couldn’t place what motivated the words and bit his tongue the moment they’d escaped him.

Quatre absorbed this information and Trowa watched as something softened in his eyes. After a moment, he said, “It’s good to see you.”

Trowa let the comment roll over him while he struggled with a response. As he opened his lips to answer, there was a cry from behind. As he turned, time slowed to a crawl and his brain slipped into a familiar, singular focus.

_Man._

_Gun._

_Move._

Dropping his coffee, Trowa side-stepped to the right, judging the line of the shot. He threw his arm out behind him, catching Quatre square in the chest and pushed with what felt like tremendous effort. As he registered the other man’s body fall away, two shots rang out and time finally caught up with him.

Collapsing to the ground, he heard the screams of the crowd and watched as Quatre’s bodyguards wrestled the assailant to the sidewalk. And as the pain blossomed in his chest, Quatre appeared overhead, his eyes wide and scared. 

“Are you hurt?” Trowa croaked. The other man shook his head, his hands already moving over him, followed by an unpleasant pressure on his chest. “Good,” he heard himself say as he started to drift away…


	16. Chapter 16

**Mount Sinai West  
New York, New York  
203 December 9**

Quatre sat in admissions, an island – silent and still – in the ever-present crisis of the Emergency Room. 

When they arrived, the staff had nearly had to forcibly pry him from Trowa’s side as he was wheeled through the double doors that led to triage and surgery. A contingent of his security detail had met him in the lobby, seeking to extract him from the scene as quickly as possible. He’d been forced to pull rank before they yielded and dispersed, leaving one man to watch him. Left to wait, he’d made the only call he could think to make.

“Quatre!”

He looked up at the sound of his name and found two men picking their way to him. 

“We came as soon as we could,” Wufei told him, apologetic. Heero, stone-faced and silent followed at his heels, a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.

Quatre stood when they reached his side and hoped they didn’t notice how the world shifted underfoot as he did so. “Thank you, I…didn’t know who else to call. The team has handled the police for now, but I thought you should know. He said he was visiting…” He vaguely registered he was babbling and snapped his lips shut. 

But then the stripped gears in his head clicked into place and he felt his stomach drop. “Catherine.”

Wufei extended his hand out to him. “Give me your phone – I’ll call her. You go change.” Quatre passed the device over without second thought. “What’s your access code?”

“Oh-four ninety-five,” Quatre told him, noting but somehow unable to respond to the look Wufei shot first him, and then Heero, who had moved to stand beside him. 

Heero similarly made no comment, only reaching out with a gentle hand to take Quatre’s arm and guide him away from the bustling admissions area. “Come on,” he coaxed and they turned down a side hallway, dodging hospital staff as they went.

As they walked, Quatre struggled against the fog that had enveloped his brain. With Heero’s hand acting as a tether to Earth, Quatre drifted, cold and unaffected. They moved past gurneys and nurses and anxious patients. He was vaguely aware of the fearful gazes some sent their way, but was just as vaguely aware of the apathy that had settled over him, making him blessedly numb.

Heero ushered him into the bathroom and followed him in, locking the door behind them. Quatre leaned back against the opposite wall, seeking something stable to anchor himself to while he watched Heero drop his duffel to the ground between them. Kneeling, Heero unzipped the bag and produced a large plastic bag and a change of clothes from its depths. 

“Evidence?” Quatre mused as he pushed away from the wall and pulled off his suit jacket. Taking the bag that Heero held out to him, he dropped the jacket inside and set it in the sink before undoing the cuffs at his wrist.

“If need be,” Heero acknowledged. 

Quatre nodded and glanced up to watch the other man’s reflection in the mirror as he continued to undress, watched those steady blue eyes watch him right back, only darting away at the occasional noise outside in the hall. _Territorial_ was the word that came to mind.

Once suitably undressed, Quatre passed the plastic bag back to Heero, swapping it for the clothes Heero offered. He felt his heart launch itself into his throat. “These are his,” he said, suddenly uncertain.

“They were the only things I had on hand that would even hope to fit you,” Heero told him, having the sense to sound apologetic about the fact. “You’re too tall now to wear anything Wufei or I own.”

Quatre nodded and took a deep breath, steadying his frayed nerves before shaking out and stepping into the borrowed jeans. He pulled on the t-shirt with similar trepidation. 

Once he was clothed once more, he found his attention drawn to the dried blood that caked the creases of his palms and under his nails. Looking up into the mirror with new eyes, he found flecks of the same stuff painting his cheekbones and jawline. How had he not seen it before? The terror that flooded him at the sight brought new waves of nausea. 

Turning on the faucet, Quatre shoved his arms under the spray and scrubbed at his skin until the run off no longer flowed red. Leaning forward over the basin, he repeated the action with his face and neck until the skin was pink. He closed his eyes against his reflection – a stranger in his ex-lover’s clothes – and braced his hands on the sink’s white porcelain edge until his fingers ached. 

As the silence stretched on, accented only by his own labored breathing and the pounding in his ears, he grew keenly aware of Heero’s presence hovering at the door. The witness, the overseer, the silent monument to his failings.

“You were here last time, too,” Quatre murmured to the other man. He couldn’t meet his eyes, keeping his own gaze locked on the sink beneath him.

“Quat?” Heero asked, sounding hesitant. There was a step forward, but then a pause.

“You were here last time I almost got him killed,” he clarified, his voice barely above a whisper. 

At this, Heero did close the distance, his arms coming around his waist from behind. Quatre felt the other man rest his cheek against his shoulder blade, a display of affection from the other man that he hitherto would have never thought to experience. The kindness, the stability in the embrace broke him and releasing a hand from its unsteady grip on the counter, Quatre covered his mouth and cried.


	17. Chapter 17

**Mount Sinai West  
New York, New York  
203 December 16**

“So…worst visit ever?” Wufei asked, his tone light.

“It’s certainly among the top five,” Trowa acknowledged, the words rasping between his chapped lips. “Though I’m sure I could come up with some that beat it.”

Trowa had come-to some days before to the face of his sister leaning over him, hitting the nurse call button. As she told it, he’d had moments of lucidity throughout the week; but it seemed to him as if he’d finally awoken from some protracted nightmare, punctuated by hazy visions of bodies both familiar and not and the incessant beeping of machines. He recalled the moments after the bullets hit, the commotion that followed, _his_ closeness…

“And Quatre?” Trowa watched Wufei stiffen at the question. “He _was_ here. He came in the ambulance with me…”

The other man nodded, his demeanor turning solemn. “He stayed until your sister arrived,” Wufei explained. He pursed his lips a moment, seeming to consider whether he should say more, then added, “He refused to leave until he knew you were through the worst of it.”

Trowa mulled this revelation for a moment, but as he opened his mouth to respond, he was cut short as the door to his room opened and Heero ducked inside, a cellphone at his ear. 

“He’s awake,” Heero said into the mobile, sounding conspiratorial. “Did you want to talk to him before the nurses spot us and confiscate the phone?” 

Whoever was on the other line apparently answered in the affirmative because Heero crossed to the bed – Wufei pulled his legs out of the way before the other man could trip over them – and flipped the screen over on his mobile to enable the miniature video screen before passing the device to Trowa. 

A very small image of a very irate Duo Maxwell greeted him. “Hi Duo,” Trowa began, his voice hoarse. “How’s the weather in Indonesia?”

“Don’t deflect,” the other man snapped back. “What are you doing _getting shot_ , Barton? No es bueno, amigo. _Bego lu…_ ” 

Trowa winced at the reprimand, but forced a smile. “Did you just reprimand me in three languages?”

Duo was unimpressed. “Whatever. You get the gist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Duo just berated Trowa with a, “You stupid...” [Source](https://youtu.be/AzeWhq8MjXA).


	18. Chapter 18

**Upper East Side  
New York, New York  
203 December 22**

Quatre walked into the penthouse suite and found Catherine Bloom hard at work mopping the floor in the expansive kitchen. Closing the door behind him, he asked tentatively, “Were the rooms not clean when you arrived?”

“Oh, no,” Catherine began, her voice hard-edged and unforgiving, “no, they were spotless. Pristine, even. But I’m in a strange country, in a strange city, caring for my younger brother who has been _shot_ because he got between you and a bullet. _Two_ bullets, in fact. And I have no friends, no family, we’re staying in his ex-boyfriend’s _huge_ penthouse apartment, and I can’t exactly _practice my act_ , so I have to do _something_ to keep my mind off of things.” She finally turned to him then and concluded, “That about sums it up. And what do you want? I realize it’s your penthouse and all, but I was under the impression you were staying well enough away.”

Quatre raised his mobile. “Trowa messaged me.”

“Trowa’s asleep. The pain killers knock him out.”

The young man winced at that, and slid his mobile into his pocket. “It was over an hour ago,” he murmured. “I didn’t get it until I was out of the office…”

Catherine seemed to weigh this new information, lining up the chronology. “Sneaky bastard,” Quatre heard her mutter. To him, she reiterated, “Well he’s asleep _now_ …”

“I just wanted to see him,” he heard himself whisper. “I’ve made such a mess of things. I just wanted to see him, wanted to know he’s alright…” It hit him then, as his words trailed off. It hit him as it had in the hospital – how close he’d come, how close they all had come, to losing someone who meant so very much. He swayed on his feet, and so crossed quickly to the couch in the main receiving area where he sank down onto the cushions and put his face in his hands. 

As he fought the sudden onset of tears, he heard her leave the kitchen and close the distance between them, taking a seat on the opposite side of the couch. “Is he happy Catherine?” he asked her. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t see why I need to tell you that,” she answered coldly.

Quatre shook his head and scrubbed at his face before he looked up at her. “No, no you don’t. But please, please tell me. Tell me he’s happy, that he’s found someone, that he’s moved on…”

He watched the muscles in her jaw twitch moments before she pursed her lips and looked away. “No,” she murmured, “no, he’s not okay. He hasn’t been since the two of you called it quits.

“He didn’t speak about it – how it ended. Not for a long time,” she continued, drawing her legs up to her chest, clearly uncomfortable with the confession but unable to stymie her words. “But it ate at him. It changed him. But finally he told me that he ended it because…he was trying to make you do something you weren’t able to do. That he couldn’t give you the flexibility you needed, and that it was his fault it ended badly.”

Quatre shook his head vehemently. “No, it was _my_ fault. I…I wanted to protect him, to shield him from all the scrutiny and the hearsay. I was selfish. And I hurt him.” He felt himself begin to break under the admission. “It was all my fault…”

“I hated you—”

“And rightly so—”

“I hated you…because of how much he loved you,” Catherine said, pressing ahead, her eyes focused somewhere between them. “I worried about him because I didn’t want him to be hurt. And even when he was hurt, even when he came back after it ended, he still loved you. I couldn’t understand that; I couldn’t respect that – that grip you had on him. And so I resented you for it.

“He loved you then, all those years ago,” she continued. “He couldn’t even remember who he was, but he remembered that he loved you. He’s loved you since then, and he loves you now.” Catherine turned to face him then and captured his gaze with her own piercing, gray eyes. “So you tell me, Quatre Winner. You tell me right now. Do you love my brother? Do you love him as _irreparably_ as he loves you?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, but did note her choice of words. “Yes, I do.”

They shared a long moment of silence then, and he let her judge him, measure him with those gray eyes, until finally she sniffed, wiped at her eyes, and said, “Okay.” She reached out to take his hand in hers and said, “I don’t know what damage has been done, or if either of you want to tread down that path again, but I know – I’ve always known, but never wanted to accept – that you belong in each other’s lives. And I won’t prevent that. Not anymore.” 

She stood suddenly then and walked back into the kitchen. Quatre gave her space and waited for her to speak again. When at last she did, she sounded shaken as she asked him, “So do you know anywhere to get groceries around here? Take out isn’t exactly good for healing bodies…”

Quatre nodded and stood, making his own way into the kitchen. “There’s an organic market three blocks from here.”

She bit her lip and moved toward her purse. “Maybe I’ll just get a couple things…”

“Here,” he said, withdrawing his wallet and producing a platinum credit card. “Take my card.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“And I would _never_ presume you did,” he countered, before adding, “consider it a gift.”

She eyed it for a moment but then said, “Only if you stay for dinner.” Quatre was about to respond, but then her gaze shifted to just over his shoulder. “You’re awake,” she said.

Quatre turned to find Trowa standing in the archway that led down the hall toward the bedrooms. “And suspicious,” Trowa added, his eyes darting between the two of them. He leaned heavily against the wall, disheveled and disoriented from sleep still. 

With that, Catherine plucked the card from between Quatre’s still outstretched hand and told her brother, “We’re having dinner on Winner Enterprise’s dime tonight. I’m cooking, so I hope you’re both hungry.” Grabbing her purse, she made a hasty exit…but not before sending one last meaningful look at Quatre. 

Silence stretched between the two men who remained. Finally, Trowa asked, “What was that about?”

“I think,” Quatre began, “your sister and I have just begun to make amends.”

Trowa considered this for a moment, but then admitted, “That is either wonderful or terrifying, and I’m not sure which yet.”

Quatre offered a weak laugh at that, and Trowa smiled in return. Gesturing to the table tucked away in the breakfast nook, the two sat down. “How was your day?” Trowa asked.

“Frustrating, but productive,” Quatre answered. “How was yours?”

Trowa shrugged. “Between Cathy’s hovering, the pills, and my own boredom, this penthouse will be the death of me.”

Quatre suppressed a shiver and said instead, “You look better. Much better.”

“I feel better. It’s still hard to breathe at times, but I did block a bullet with a lung.” Something on Quatre’s face must have given him away because the man across from him winced and ran his hand through his tousled hair. “I’m sorry Quatre, I didn’t mean—”

“It was a lung and a rib from what I heard,” Quatre corrected, then added, “but that’s not why I’m here.” He took a deep, steadying breath and forced himself to look back into those bottomless green eyes. “I…got your message. I was glad I did – I wanted to talk to you, too.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened, and how strange it is that of all people, in all places, of all times… _you_ were there, at that moment. If you hadn’t been…”

Trowa shook his head and leaned forward. “If I hadn’t been there, your security detail’s attention would have been fully trained on the guy with the gun wading through the crowd rather than on me. Someone would’ve stopped him—”

Quatre shook his head. “I know trajectories as well as you do, and I know that if you hadn’t been there, I’d likely be dead.” He bit his lip and looked away. _Maybe…_

“Don’t.”

The word harbored all the strength Trowa’s body seemed to lack, and it derailed Quatre’s thought quite soundly. “‘Don’t’ what?” he asked, immediately wishing he didn’t sound like a petulant child.

“I know that look. Don’t you dare even _consider_ the possibility that that outcome would have been better.” Trowa rapped his fingertips on the tabletop for emphasis. “Where would that have left _me_ , Quat? I would’ve found out about it from – what, from the _news?_ Or one of the others? How do you think I would have fared knowing I’d have to face it all alone?”

“How do you think _I_ would have fared, watching you bleed out on the sidewalk? You could’ve _died_ ,” Quatre hissed.

“But I _didn’t_ ,” Trowa snapped right back. “I didn’t die, and I’m here now.” He sat back into his chair, his features softening. “We both are.” The heavy silence returned then as they watched each other. At last, Trowa said, “So beside the strange, inner workings of Fate…what do you want to talk about?”

“I want you in my life, Trowa,” Quatre said, softly. He made himself stare back into the other’s unblinking gaze. “I have been miserable ever since I watched you walk out those hotel doors and out of my life.” He was startled then when Trowa’s steady gaze faltered and he looked away. With a sudden sense of urgency, Quatre plunged ahead. “I know that with everything that’s happened between us that…that there’s no going back against what’s in the past. But…I want to see you, I want to be near you. In whatever sense you’ll allow me.”

“In whatever sense,” he heard Trowa murmur, more to himself than Quatre. Raising his eyes, he said, “I never stopped loving you, Quatre. But you buried me away.” When Quatre tried to interject, Trowa raised a hand, and he subsided. “I don’t want to hear your justifications. They don’t matter now. Because the truth remains that you couldn’t allow us to simply be us anymore – it was you, and me, and everyone else in the world that you felt you owed something to. You kept them and me separate and by doing so, I was always just something on the side. 

“Or at least…” Trowa amended, “that’s how it felt. And even then, I couldn’t stop loving you because I knew what they didn’t – I knew the part of you that would laugh at our vulgarity and protected me from the nightmares and stared into the abyss without fear because you had seen it all before anyway. 

“ _That_ part of you I understood. But the longer _this_ went on, the longer we tried to hold things together, the more you pushed me away…and the more you hid _yourself_ away. I won’t be your distraction anymore. I can’t take that on.” He paused, his eyes red and swollen, and he looked away.

_Oh God forgive me. I did this…_ But Trowa was speaking again.

“That hurt too much, Quat. I can’t do it again. Not now.”

“I could never ask you to forgive me—”

“I already did,” Trowa interrupted him, leaving Quatre stunned and off-balance. “And a thousand times before…I forgave you.”

The weight that had settled itself around his heart lifted somewhat at those words. Reaching out across the table, Quatre took Trowa’s hand in his, and was elated when he was met with no resistance. “Don’t leave me again?” he dared to ask.

“Don’t bury me again,” came the response.

Quatre squeezed the other’s fingers and shook his head, sealing their pact. “I know this doesn’t fix anything—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Trowa agreed.

“But it’s a start, yes?” he ventured, hesitant, hopeful.

Trowa considered this for a moment, but took a deep breath and nodded. It was the most beautiful thing Quatre had seen in years.


End file.
